Meeting Kenny's Mom

When I was thrown into this journey, almost two years ago (wow, how has it been that long already?!) I never dreamed I would form such special relationships with other bereaved mothers online. Ones I had never met but bonded with on such an intimate level. I read their blogs and feel like I wrote them myself. In so many ways, we are all the same. And we take comfort in this. It makes us feel less alone in this world where horrible things happen and they have no prejudice.

For some reason, until recently, it never occurred to me that I could actually meet in real life any of these amazing and strong women whom I feel like I already know. But today, it actually happened. I met Julie. :) Julie lost her sweet Kenny last May when she was 25 weeks along, just like me. She and her husband came down to visit some family who happens to live just twenty minutes away from me. We arranged to meet and had lunch today at Chili's, Julie, Daniel, Jude, and me.

It was so great to sit and talk of our babies together and we both felt the same way about so many things. It's so easy to feel like a freak of nature when your body fails you and the only people you can relate to are not a part of your everyday immediate life. But to be face to face with someone who shares your same pain... There's some comfort in that.

It's amazing how universal so many of the emotions of baby loss are. It is such a personal devastation, but it can so easily be shared with strangers. Strangers that become friends.

I am so grateful that I got to meet Julie today. It was like catching up with an old friend. I hope it's not the last time we cross paths or the last time I get to meet a fellow baby loss mom!

Brother and sister

There's a big piece of my heart that has been mended since Jude was born. A Rainbow Baby does bring so much healing. My arms are no longer empty. My house doesn't lack the sounds of a little one. There are finally pacifiers, burp cloths, and little socks scattered in random places... These things and so many more that I have been dreaming of are finally a reality for us. But do not be mistaken. I still miss her.

I miss Avery everyday. I look at Jude's little face and I wonder if he looks like she would have. I hear his cry and his little sounds and wonder what hers would have sounded like. I see Jude's beautiful blue eyes and wonder what it would have been like to see Avery looking back at me. I cuddle Jude, all warm and alive, and I wonder what it would have been like to cuddle Avery with the absence of coldness and death. I wonder what it would be like to see Avery play with Jude, like a sister and brother play. Would she be helpful or jealous? Would she be gentle or rough with him? I know they would have grown up to be best friends, just like I am with my brothers.

I'll always be left to wonder, because Avery still isn't here. And it's still hard without her. Jude doesn't erase or replace her. He doesn't fill her void. He just distracts us from it. I praise God for the gift of Jude. He's amazing and beautiful. Such a precious little brother.

Sadly enough, something I was looking forward to was bringing Jude to the cemetery to visit his big sister. It was the only way we could have our babies be together. So on October 5th, it happened. We got to take Jude to Avery's spot. It was a very special, bittersweet moment.

Here's Jude at 9 weeks 3 days, actually just 3 days after his due date. He's "holding" Avery's new pinwheel.

The sun was crazy that day, but here they are... my babies. "Together."

We came back on October 8th to visit again.

Me with my kids. Not the way I planned it.

Daniel with our two babies. He's such a great Daddy to both of them.

I still can't believe it most times that this is our story. When you have a baby, so many people ask "is this your first?" I always tell the truth. "No. He has a big sister who was stillborn last year." Usually something to that effect. I don't care if I make them uncomfortable or if they feel awkward. Avery is still my first baby and she always will be. She is Jude's sister and he will always be her brother. He will grow up knowing about her and loving her as if she was here with us. Jude will know that she's waiting for us in Heaven. We will be with her again someday.

After the Rainbow

Our Rainbow baby will be 9 weeks old tomorrow, October 2nd. That day is also his due date. Jude Wesley was born on July 31st at just 31 weeks gestation. The same thing that took Avery was beginning to happen to our little boy. He had to be born via emergency c-section and spent four weeks and four days in the NICU. He's been home for just three days shy of how long he was in the hospital. Funny how it goes so much slower in the NICU. He's already getting so big. I wish time could slow down...

So, how is life after the Rainbow? Has our grief over the loss of Avery changed since Jude has been born? I can imagine some people may expect us not to miss Avery anymore, or maybe that everything is fixed now that we have "a real baby." In a lot of ways, Jude makes us miss her even more, experiencing all of the things we mourned losing with her. Finally being able to lose sleep at night to nurture a precious baby, instead of losing sleep because you can't stop crying over your empty aching arms. Oh, and I was right... having to get up all night long to feed and change a crying baby is nothing compared to what I got to do after I had Avery. Being Jude's mom is so much easier than being Avery's mom. It's nice to know I wasn't mistaken. I knew exactly what I was missing with Avery. The challenge of parenting is worth every second and I take on all of it gladly. I cherish it. This is exactly what I wanted, everything I dreamed of. Life is perfect. Well, almost.

You would have to read my latest post in Jude's blog to see why things aren't all they could be. And then you'll know how I feel about the fact that I cannot have anymore children. Avery and Jude are all I get. Yes, I am physically able to conceive, but the risk is too great. I cannot handle another loss and it would be selfish to put my life on the line. But it's not easy to accept. I am not ungrateful for the gift of Jude, but I just didn't expect this to be our life. I just don't think it's fair.

Today, Daniel and I were talking about how we will never experience a daughter. We lost the only one we could ever have. I'll never braid my little girl's hair or dress her up in pretty outfits. I'll never have dolls or Barbies lying around my house. No pink... No little toenails to paint. I won't be able to teach my daughter how to use make-up or listen to her talk about her crushes. I'll never have that amazing mother-daughter relationship that I share with my own mother. After losing Avery, I didn't know I would never get the chance to experience all the girl things with another daughter in the future. I had no idea Avery would never have a sister. Now I feel like that's another form of loss to deal with. As much as I love having a son, there will still be something we missed out on. Something we were supposed to have.

Having another baby after a loss doesn't erase anything. It doesn't replace the baby that died. I really hope people don't believe that. I miss thinking that Avery's death was the only burden I'd have to carry. The Rainbow is supposed to be the end of the storm and I wish that were still so. I am cherishing every second with Jude... every accidental smile, every little preemie grunt, every silly expression, every yawn, every cute sneeze, every breath, every thing... But after he's outgrown each stage, I can never have that back. I can never experience it the next time around with another baby. This is it. I wish losing Avery was enough devastation for one life.

In a way I feel like Avery sort of died in vain, for lack of a better word. I really believed that she died to save the rest of her siblings. That her death taught us what was wrong with my body so we could make my next pregnancies safe and we would find victory over my mutations. Turns out, all the extra difficult intervention only bought us six weeks and we nearly lost Jude the same way we lost Avery. And there won't be anymore siblings to live for her. I always pictured several little ones in our home, alive because of Avery. Enjoying life because of Avery. I know Jude is alive because of Avery... but it almost wasn't a happy ending for him. My body failed to carry a pregnancy to term once again. The one thing I swear I was made for, my body cannot handle. This is a low blow to me, a slap in the face.

I know my heart will begin to heal over this new reality, the loss of my dream of having a big family. I know the time will pass and it will become the new normal, just like life without Avery has become. And one day, we will be able to tell Jude about his big sister and how amazing she is. He will grow up loving her and he'll know that she is in Heaven waiting, saving a special place just for us.

Andy's song for Avery

One of the things I am grateful for through losing Avery is the bond that has been formed between us- those who loved her and still do. Those who miss her and don't let us forget that. One of those people, who has always amazed us with his love for Avery, is her uncle, Andy. Andy is Daniel's younger brother. Even his Honda has the same 'Avery' sticker that mine and Daniel's cars sport. Long after some have stopped mentioning Avery or act as if she's just something of the past, Andy is still here with us, making her feel relevant. It's so touching when others are so obviously affected by our precious little girl. Especially when over a year after she's gone and her brother is on his way, someone could come over to our home just to share a song they wrote about her. That's what Andy did on Thursday night. Just to know that someone thought about her that much, to pen lyrics in their head while they worked hard at their job, to go home and write the music to put those words to, to make a song about our Avery... It's such a gift to us.

Andy is very talented. He always has been. Writing music, singing, playing guitar... It all seems to come so naturally to him. His voice is beautiful and has always been one of my favorites to hear. God has really blessed him with these talents. And he uses them to honor God, which makes it all that much more beautiful. And of course, honoring Avery is beautiful to me as well. When he sat in our living room next to his new wife, singing and playing Avery's song, Daniel was next to me with tears streaming down his face. Daniel may be the older one but there are many times when he looks up to his little brother. I think this was one of those times. So in awe at his brother's heart and how he was sharing the same pain that Daniel bears every day. It was a special moment. I'm so touched and so honored by Andy's gift to us. It's so personal and so special.

I asked Andy if he could email me the lyrics and if I could share them here. So here it is, Andy's song for his little niece:

The news hits me so hard
My brother's baby girl won't make it out alive
This feeling of helplessness overtakes me
I don't know why this happened but I miss you Avery


Mommy and daddy are so proud of you
Even though they missed your first word and step
God knows I believe that you're singing and dancing in His holy presence


We love you so much
We hate to say goodbye
Those tiny hands hold our hearts so tight
Don't you worry we'll hold you soon
But till then don't forget that We love you
We miss you
We wish you were here with us


Even when the waves are crashing down
You're still good
God you're so good


The news hits me so hard
My brother's baby girl won't make it out alive
This feeling of helplessness overtakes me
I don't know why this happened but We miss you Avery

Andy and sweet, tiny Avery.



Thank you, Andy... For being a great brother to us... and a perfect uncle to sweet Avery. <3 We love you.

Fathers Day

Today was Daniel's second Fathers Day. His first came just three months after Avery died. I remember last year that the day was so hard on me. I felt worse for him that day than I had for myself on my first Mothers Day. This year was obviously much more hopeful, with Jude on the way and doing so well. Today also just happened to be the start of my 25th week pregnant. That, as we all know, was the week we lost Avery.

Hitting week 25 feels much better than the weeks leading up to it. Getting here and knowing Jude is still thriving and kicking away calms so many fears. But this week is still an emotional one for so many reasons. Avery's due date is on Wednesday, the 22nd. That's still so sad to me. She should be having her first birthday sometime in the next week or so. But it won't happen. Then of course, today being Fathers Day was hard.

I always worry that people won't acknowledge Daniel as the father that he is. He isn't as publicly vocal about his feelings of Avery and that's just his personality. His thoughts mirror mine and he hurts just like I do. Time has not chased away his love for her or his pain. He even told me today that he felt sad about her and missed her a lot. Fathers Day worsens that sting, just as Mothers Day does for me. But it makes it so much worse when people deny you the day. I felt so upset today, and I catch myself still feeling bothered by it now, when someone close to us wished Daniel a happy "future" fathers day. That comment was followed by "This time next year, you'll be a gleaming father!" It broke my heart. Especially because we love this person and they would never want to hurt us. I just feel so surprised that they wouldn't consider Daniel a part of fathers day after all we have been through. I hate to think that people only consider us as "almost" parents only because I'm pregnant with Jude. I do not get how people could think that way. How is Daniel not a father? That baby we buried? She looked exactly like him.

Why would I have to give birth to a baby if she was just so easily discarded? Why would we have a funeral for someone who doesn't count as a person? Why do we miss someone if she isn't considered our daughter? Our flesh and blood? Why would I tattoo her name on my body to keep with me forever if she is so easily forgotten? How does being pregnant for six months with someone that has a face and a beating heart, laboring and giving birth, burying a baby, and grieving their absence on a daily basis not count for anything? I really hate feeling like I have to justify that we are still parents even before conceiving Jude.

The definition of parenting isn't just limited to taking care of a child for a specific period of time. Sure, typically, you care for your child until they are 18 or so and go off on their own. But what if your child dies at age 10, does that just erase their existence and completely revoke your title as father or mother? Or do they count because they were here for a little while and other people got a chance to know them? So then tell me, how many years need to go by for the life of a person to count? I'm not sure I've come across that time table. If your parents die, that doesn't mean that you never had a mother or father and it doesn't mean you're no longer a son or a daughter. Even parents who give up their babies by choice for adoption at birth and never see them again are still called birth parents... Birth mother, birth father... If getting the chance to raise or take care of a child for a substantial period of time is what makes it count, then what about fathers who are deployed for a large part of their child's life? Do you say that that father isn't a real father because he hasn't even met his child or had the chance to take care of him? Of course not. His child is just not with him.

And so it's the same with us. Our child is not with us. But she lived. And she lives now in Heaven.

I guess I just find it hurtful to go through so much devastation and to love a child so much even in death and then be denied her. It makes me feel like people don't care about her, that they don't consider her a meaningful life or something that matters. I feel like her death is dismissed as nothing more than simply being not pregnant anymore. Why do I have to keep being made to feel like this? How can people that were at her funeral and saw our brokenness and received her photos and watched her get buried just ignore the fact that she was here? It makes me feel so much more sad for her. So sad that she's really made less of an impact than I thought she had. Breaks a mothers heart.

Just a last thought... Some (not all) people with living kids think they have it so much harder than bereaved parents. Please do not make the mistake of assuming that the challenge of raising children is harder than the absence of children due to death. We were in no way "let off the hook" when we lost our children. We grieving parents aren't ignorant enough to think that raising a child is all sunshine and easy street. We don't have this ridiculous fantasy world painted in our minds where we have absolutely no clue what we're missing. We are aware that there is definite stress and hardships involved. But no parent of a living child could ever tell me, even on their most difficult, end-of-their-rope, ripping-their-hair-out day that they would rather trade places with me and have their child be dead and visit a stone in a cemetery instead of snuggle them close or watch them grow up. I'd take infinite stress over devastation any day. It's worth all the challenges and hassles to take care of a child. You don't get anything out of the death of your child. You lose more than you can bear. And the void lasts forever.

So besides that simple comment that caused so much emotion, Daniel had a decent day. I made him feel as special as I could, telling him what a wonderful father he is. It takes such a special man to be the father of a dead child. He has loved both of our children even before they were conceived. Lots of men have trouble bonding even sometime after birth. Not Daniel. He loves both Avery and Jude as if he carried them himself. He never felt Avery kick. He only saw her on three ultrasounds and heard her heartbeat while she was alive. And still he loves her and mourns her just as I do. Already, he is in love with our son. He talks to Jude, touches my belly, marvels at his developments each week and loves to feel him kick. He doesn't need to meet Jude to love him. He already does. I love that about Daniel. Such a beautiful father. Avery and Jude are so blessed to be his.

Not always bad

Sometimes I feel sad that Avery's blog is almost always about negative things. That my entries are full of complaints or sadness. While being Avery's mom is very difficult and life has a void without her, being her mom also fills me with joy. She is my little girl. She always will be. She is what made me a mother in the first place. She is why Jude has a chance to survive and live a full life. Those are beautiful things and so is she, in her glorified, whole body, dancing with Jesus and her little friends in Heaven.

I am still forever changed. In good ways and bad ones. I don't believe I needed a lesson in compassion or in appreciating life. But this still happened to me anyway. I just have to believe that special people are chosen to endure these traumas. I know God didn't just point His finger at us and decide to kill our child. He doesn't work that way. He is a loving and caring God, not an evil smiter who longs to strike us with lightning bolts or punish us for things. That's not Who He is. But I do believe He tries to work in us when devastation mutilates our lives. And He does all He can to make something beautiful out of it, to teach others something, to strengthen us through it. Anything He can to put the pieces back together. Because He loves us. I know He never wanted Avery to die. But He knew it would happen. It comes with the territory of being a part of such an imperfect and cruel world, made that way through mankind's free will. That's just the way it is.

And I know I always rave about how people don't get it... and they don't. But there are a few around me who don't forget Avery. I probably don't mention them, since the forgetters outnumber them, but they do exist. They know who they are, and they are very special to me. All it takes is a mention of her name to thrill my heart.

Lately

Lately, I have really been struggling. I've been struggling with how Avery's death has changed my outlook and my mindsets. When your baby dies, you entire attitude and opinions on life in general become so narrow and specific. The life and sacredness of babies and children become so vital. But then you find that not many people feel this way. Not even all mothers of living children, who know what it's like to love a baby.

My heart aches for Avery everyday. Most people have forgotten her. My heart longs for Jude to make it here safely. Most people just assume he'll be fine. And ya know what? He very well may be... and I pray to God he stays well. But I just feel like very few take the time to think about how much it takes each day, emotionally and physically, to get him here. What happened to Avery is etched permanently in my very being. Jude's life in my womb does not erase her, nor the pain of losing her. Jude grows and dances and lives exactly where his big sister died. Being pregnant with him reminds me of how it felt to be pregnant with Avery. That's hard. Hearing Jude's heartbeat reminds me all over again that Avery's used to beat and it no longer does.

I am 18 weeks pregnant with Jude today. In just seven quick weeks, I'll reach the week where we lost Avery. Already, Jude is doing much better than Avery was at this point. Of course at the time we couldn't realize that since we had nothing to compare her to. But it's all still scary. All I know of pregnancy and childbirth is devastation. I have never held my living child in my arms. I have never heard my child cry. I only know silence and death. So sometimes it's very easy to worry about Jude. To worry that he'll meet Avery way before he should. I pray all the time that he gets to be here first. Be here longer than we do. Parents are not supposed to bury their children.

So lately I have been feeling angry. Yes, I am overjoyed over Jude. He is what fills my days with happiness. He thrills me to no end. I am in love with my son. But I am angry over what has happened to his sister. My little girl. I think my anger is caused by how people treat my situation. It seems that no one wants to allow me to feel the way I do. Even those who have not walked in my shoes find it necessary to tell me how not to feel. They can't just accept that I have been through HELL losing my baby, even if they don't understand. I am the only one in my entire very large family who has a tombstone with their child's name on it. I don't think anyone has the right to tell me anything about how to feel or to judge me for my feelings.

My other problem that makes my life unpleasant is how I feel toward other people. I unintentionally have this radar for what people say about pregnancy or children. I have become so sensitive toward people's views on the very thing that is so sacred to me. I cannot stand when people complain about pregnancy and act like it's a huge inconvenience or their cross to bear. They are so blessed to even be pregnant, and how about suddenly not being pregnant anymore because your baby died? I wish people knew how to be more grateful. There are people out there who are so ignorant and so naive. Praying for something as petty as a specific gender and making a big deal out of it, while I sit here and beg God to allow my child just to make it here alive. I can't help but feel insulted. While my husband stabs me in the stomach every single night with my blood thinning injection, other pregnant women are complaining that they're uncomfortable. Darn. If only discomfort could be my biggest problem.

It has also been insensitively brought to my attention that these women have an excuse to be ungrateful for their pregnancies and babies. They're practically expected to be ignorant because they haven't been through what I have. I'm sorry... I don't buy that. Even people that KNOW me and know exactly what happened to my baby go on and take things for granted. How could what happened to my little girl have NO effect on anyone?! And really? Only women who know what it's like to lose a baby are completely grateful for their children? I don't want to believe that. I'm sure there are many mothers out there who haven't experienced loss that would be very insulted to hear that. So why the excuse for such ungratefulness? Why make me feel like even more of a freak of nature or even more alienated by empowering the ignorance of others? If I share my feelings, I don't need someone making me feel invalidated or brushing off how I feel by completely defending the other party. Even if you don't agree with me, know that I have been through a tremendous devastation and you couldn't possibly begin to use logic against me or downplay my feelings. This loss has left with me a bottomless pit in my heart that even Jude can't fill. If you tell me that even people who know me, even people I'm related to, can act so cavalier toward something so precious and delicate, then you are telling me that my daughter had absolutely no effect on anyone... that her life and her death has left no impact... that she made no mark on this world whatsoever other than a stone in the cemetery... that she is easily forgotten and that no one cares at all. Thanks. That's exactly what a mother dreams of for her child's legacy.

Another reason why I can't buy the whole "they don't get it because it hasn't happened to them" excuse is because even before Avery died, I promise you, I swear to you that I did not take her for granted. I did not complain about her. I had no idea I could lose her and I still treasured her existence to no end. I loved her deeply and completely before she was even here. Before I knew I had to be without her. So it wasn't my experience with her death that gave me this eye-opening appreciation for the life of my child. I always had it. So why doesn't everyone else? And even if you can't be affected by daughter's death, to where it changes your outlook on life, is it too much to ask for people to watch what they say in front of me? To make sure they're not insensitive to what I have been through? Or am I the only one who is aware of other people's feelings and makes sure not to say things that could offend? I hope not. Feel the way you want, but just don't say it in front of me.

My last struggle is feeling like people don't consider me a mother, especially as Mothers Day unforunately draws near. I am sure that I have hashed this out before but I guess no one read it! I don't like hearing, now that I'm pregnant again, that I'm "going to be such a great mom." That implies that right now, I am not a mom. Everyone needs to understand that Avery counts as my child. When my brother almost drowned at 2 years old in 1992, would my mother have no longer been considered his mother if he hadn't survived? So because she got to mother him for two short years, she'd forever be his mother? Avery spent her whole life inside of me, yes. But I took care of her. I held my breath walking by smokers. I made sure not to drink more caffeine than I was allowed. I did my very best to ensure healthy eating while I was pregnant. And I LOVED her. I excitedly awaited her arrival and the joy she'd bring into our home. I loved her even before she was conceived. I wrote her letters. Sometimes I still do. I had contractions and labor and gave birth to her. And when she was born, though she was already gone, I held her.  I watched her deteriorate over the course of our time together because I wanted to spend time with my daughter. I wiped the fluid leaking from her little nose and blotted the oozing cracks in her lifeless skin. I cuddled her, kissed her, savored her, memorized her, took photos of her. I handled her gently as if it mattered to keep her comfortable. I cried over her, watched the nurse wheel her out of our room for the last time. I left empty-handed, and soon, my milk came in, just like any mother's does, for a baby that wasn't here. And I watched her get buried a few days later. And even now, over a year later, I still visit her resting place and decorate it for her. I still grief for her, I still miss her, I still love her. How the hell does that not make me a mother?!

How do people not know by now all of this that I went through and still go through? Why do I feel like no one cares or remembers? All I have is alienation. Just because Avery didn't enter this world alive, it doesn't make her count any less. Especially if you believe in the sanctity of life... and if you believe that life begins at conception. I just don't understand. I hate that this is my life. I hate feeling like Avery doesn't matter. I hate feeling so alone amongst the people I know. I wish more people would just try to understand. Or at least pretend to.